


Drink Your Wine With A Joyful Heart: Kirei Ficlets

by goldenteaset



Category: Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Facial Shaving, Ficlet Collection, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Obsession, Philosophy, Scents & Smells, Self-Hatred, Series Spoilers, Sickfic, Soulmates played for horror, Timeline What Timeline, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-02-26 19:51:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2664284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenteaset/pseuds/goldenteaset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of ficlets concerning Kotomine Kirei, and those foolish, brave, or arrogant souls who find themselves in his presence.</p><p>(Can't call it "10 Kirei Ficlets" anymore, can I?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Morning Shave (Kirei/Kiritsugu)

**Author's Note:**

> Why on Earth I decided to write about a character I love to hate ten times is better left unexplored, I think. (Well, okay, two reasons are I want to understand his character better and write him better...even though he still gives me the creeps.)
> 
> These ficlets will be of varying lengths and not really in any set canon timeline. 
> 
> Also the title comes from Ecclesiastes 9:7. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Fate/Zero.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Holy Grail War, Kiritsugu has been held captive by Kirei. Kirei decides to indulge his plaything with a bit of pampering.

“You need a shave,” Kirei says, the lather and straight razor cool to the touch. “You should have told me earlier.”

He places the wood-handled shaving brush, plastic bottle of lather and black steel-handled straight razor in a neat row on the small folding table. A faint stripe of sunlight slides coldly across the blade, and he smiles when his lover flinches away. _It’s only natural. He hasn’t seen sunlight in nearly a month, after all._

As a reward for such an amusing reaction, Kirei opens the bedroom curtains and lets the morning sun come flooding in. He can’t help but smile fondly as Kiritsugu lets out a gasp of pain, only for his eyes to slowly adjust to the light.

“Is something the matter?” Kirei asks, the concerned tone still easily crossing his lips even now.

Kiritsugu doesn’t make a sound, now that he can see clearly. His dull, dark eyes watch as Kirei unscrews the bruise-blue cap on the lather.

“You really need to take better care of yourself,” Kirei admonishes. “You’re the one Angra Mainyu chose as its bearer, after all. ‘The Bearer of All The Evil In the World’…I must say I’m a little jealous.”

He’s unsure if it’s a lie or not. As corrupted as the Grail was, it may not have granted Kiritsugu such a boon. Still, the very _idea_ of all the vile, dark desires in the world nestled in Kiritsugu’s wasting (but not wasted), bone-pale body is…charming.

Kiritsugu sits on the stiff wooden chair apprehensively, trying his best to get comfortable with his arms chained behind his bare back. The gift Kirei had so generously bequeathed to him, when he first brought his lover to the church, has scarred over wonderfully. The silver-purple brand stretches from Kiritsugu’s neck and shoulders to his lower back, illuminated by the sun.

_You seemed to want a cross to bear so badly, I decided to give you one._

Kirei chuckles and dabs the shaving brush into the lemon-scented lather. Kiritsugu nervously chews his lip. When Kirei dabs the cold white froth against his lover’s cheek, he’s rewarded with a soft, surprised noise—as if he didn’t expect Kirei to be so gentle.

“A present will be coming for you soon,” Kirei says, making his voice as soothing as possible. “You’ve been very well-behaved, so naturally a reward is in order.”

“…Thank you,” Kiritsugu says flatly, his brows furrowed in suspicion. “What is it?”

“A surprise.”

The soft lathered brush slips beneath Kiritsugu’s jaw-line, forcing him to tip his head back and look in Kirei’s eyes. He seems disappointed by Kirei’s answer, but if Kirei learned one thing as a child, it was that presents that he _knew_ were a surprise were the hardest ones to wait for. And Kiritsugu’s stained mind is a fertile breeding ground for surprises pleasant and putrid alike.

Once Kirei finishes the lather and begins brandishing the razor, Kiritsugu’s mind has clearly come up with multiple possibilities. Kirei doesn’t—no, _can’t_ —add anything more. He simply hums softly and continues sliding the razor over the skin he knows so well.

“I could probably do this in my sleep,” he says aloud, not really expecting a response.

Kiritsugu’s expression is almost peaceful; perhaps he didn’t hear him. Or perhaps he’s imagining his wife doing this for him. Kirei’s mood sours at the idea—he needs no memories of past wives to counteract his joy.

He needs a distraction. He invites one.

“Perhaps I should have you shave me.”

Kiritsugu’s borderline-peaceful expression grows familiarly cold and neutral. The Mage Killer has decided to have a brief encore—or, perhaps more accurately, Kiritsugu has been biding his time for such a moment. The thought sends a delighted shiver down Kirei’s spine. He doesn’t bother to analyze why.

“I see you like that idea.” The razor caresses Kiritsugu’s Adam’s apple like a lover on a lazy Sunday morning.

“It has a certain appeal.”

Kirei laughs softly. “Shockingly, I think I missed that wit of yours. Perhaps because it’s so rare these days.”

“You need something to break the monotony?”

Kirei idly toys with Kiritsugu’s hair. Claudia used to show affection that way, and perhaps the Einzbern Homunculus too. Kiritsugu looks confused and annoyed instead of a more positive reaction. All the more reason to continue.

“You could never be boring, Kiritsugu.”

The look in Kiritsugu’s eyes suggests he’s willing to take Kirei up on that offer—thus proving his point without saying a word.

Even without the gift of bearing “All the Evil In The World”, Emiya Kiritsugu is still a fitting companion.

 _Perhaps I’ll let him kill me one day,_ Kirei muses, as the razor blade gleams in the sun. _That would make a nice present for both of us. But not for a long while yet. We have many joys to share before that not so bitter end…_


	2. The Third Definition (Kirei + Gilgamesh)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ravish" means more than rape or violent force. Kirei defines, Gilgamesh drinks, and Kariya is still on Kirei's mind.

“Did you know that ‘ravish’ has more than one meaning?” Kirei asks Gilgamesh over the rustling and clinking of wine bottles.

“Most words do.” Gilgamesh’s voice sounds muffled from within the wine cabinet. “But feel free to enlighten me.”

Kirei makes himself more comfortable in his green sofa, happy to rest his feet for a moment. “There is the usual, archaic meaning of rape, as well as ‘to carry off by violent force’.”

Gilgamesh carefully lifts his head from the cabinet, bearing a prize of 1928 Pinot Noir. “Trite _and_ boring. How disappointing for such a pleasant-sounding word.”

“Indeed. But there’s a more interesting third meaning: ‘to fill someone with intense delight’.”

It takes a moment for the joke to settle in. Then Gilgamesh is laughing, the wine in his hand trembling and slopping against the green glass.

“Ah, I see!” Gilgamesh’s voice trembles slightly with leftover amusement as he points the bottle at Kirei. “Well then, have you felt _ravished_ lately?”

Kirei opens his thighs slightly. “As per usual, not particularly.”

“What a pity.” Gilgamesh stands up, still holding the bottle. “Perhaps we should remedy that?”

“That depends on the definition we’re using.”

“Mmm.” Gilgamesh’s walk is more loose-limbed than his usual strut, but there’s still a sense of purpose to his movements. “Let’s choose that ever-so-intriguing third definition, shall we?”

“Matou Kariya’s body is breaking down further by the day,” Kirei says softly, as he hands Gilgamesh a wine glass previously standing unfilled on the table.

“What a shame.” Gilgamesh sounds mildly sincere. “How much longer do you think he’ll last?”

The melodic sound of wine being poured ripples through the room.

“Three days, perhaps four if he’s lucky.”

Gilgamesh smiles slyly over the rim of his glass. “Well, then. Clearly you need to move your pieces a little faster.”

“But joy, ravishment, and all those other words seem like things to savor. Shouldn’t I instead try to make Kariya live longer?”

Gilgamesh’s smile grows wider. “It’s not _shouldn’t_ , Kirei.”

_Oh._ “In order to increase my joy, in order to be ravished by it…I must increase Kariya’s miserable, stretched-too-thin life.”

His companion’s answer is a long, slow sip of wine.


	3. Decisions (Kirei, Rin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirei contemplates his young student and charge, and what choices she may make concerning the Grail.

Kirei wonders idly if he should tell Rin to pursue the Holy Grail or not when she’s of age.

On the one hand, there’s a determination and bigheartedness in this girl that could truly change the world. It could be a baptism by water or by fire (or by steel), but it would be a baptism nonetheless. It would give Kirei something amusing to see before he died, at least.

On the other hand, the expectations dumped suddenly onto her as the family heir are already starting to take their toll; it’s only been a year and already she’s grown distant, harsher. She’s starting to resemble her name after all, which amuses Kirei to no end.

Of course, the best way to deal with this intriguing dilemma is to let Rin herself decide. He’ll lay out breadcrumbs as he pleases in either direction: _Step down from your position and become a common girl? Become a Mage, win the Grail and make your parents proud? Even better, use the Grail to make your family whole again?_

Either way, Rin’s path will be a treacherous, shadowed path as uninviting as the eerily silent Tohsaka mansion.

Perhaps the Azoth Dagger will be of use to her after all.


	4. New Ruler (Gilgamesh/Kirei)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for episode 17.
> 
> Gilgamesh and Kirei celebrate Tokiomi's death by defiling his bed.

Kirei does not forget who the ruler is in their relationship.

Not that Gilgamesh makes it easy to forget to begin with. Even when he isn’t wearing his golden armor, sprawled out on a couch or leaning against a wall, there’s a regal sense to his bearing.

And now, the King of Heroes is without pants, hair tussled, shirt pushed up past his chest and reclining on what was Tokiomi’s bed. As seemingly defenseless as Gilgamesh is, Kirei waits for his offer to join him.

There’s something perverse in having sex in a fresh corpse’s bed. Kirei does his best to ignore the vaguely disturbed feeling in his brain by focusing instead on his new Servant, or rather, new Master.

No matter how hard he tries, despite his diligent caresses, Gilgamesh doesn’t “succumb to pleasure”. Instead he rides it, embraces it with barely a hitch of breath. Kirei’s not so fortunate, as he’s riding Gilgamesh, who _does_ seem to know every touch to make him shudder and slowly melt like chocolate in summer.

When they’re finished (it feels like both forever and only an instant), Kirei sincerely wishes to sleep through the Holy Grail War. He knows he won’t. Instead he’ll learn everything Gilgamesh has to teach him about touch and its pleasures, and then one day the King of Heroes may deign to succumb to pleasure himself.

Kirei has always been a good student.


	5. Dance (Kirei + Tohsaka Family)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirei gets invited to the annual Mage Association Ball with the Tohsaka family. He tries to be content. He fails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Remember when it seemed like Kirei was practically a member of the Tohsaka family? Remember how that idea crashed and burned?
> 
> Yeah don't mind me, still sad about this.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Tokiomi asks over the sound of violins.

“Yes,” Kirei says without missing a beat.

He’s not sure why he was invited to the Mage Association’s annual ball, until he remembers that he’s technically a Mage now, if only an apprentice. He hasn’t worn a suit since his wedding to Claudia, and despite the suit being made for him by Tokiomi’s tailor, Kirei still wishes he was in his usual clothes.

Tokiomi seems to notice his discomfort. “We won’t need to stay here long. Rin will get tired around eight, and then we can leave.”

Rin pipes up from her position next to her mother, looking affronted. “I won’t be tired, Father! I took a nap this afternoon so I could stay up with you, Mother, and Kirei!”

Aoi smiles softly. “And what if _we_ get sleepy, Rin?”

Rin seems confused at the idea of adults getting tired and frowns. “…Well…then I guess that’d be okay.”

The famous orchestra (whose name Kirei can’t recall) strikes up a waltz, and naturally Tokiomi and his wife take the opportunity to glide onto the dance floor with the other couples. Tokiomi is surprisingly hard to spot in a sea of black tuxes, but Aoi’s petal-pink dress and sparkling laughter allow Kirei to keep track of them.

Rin has taken Tokiomi’s chair at the little round table, a huge beaming smile on her face. “Mother and Father are the prettiest here, aren’t they Kirei?”

Kirei rubs his chin in thought. “I suppose so. But then, they are very happy together. My Father says that happiness makes everything beautiful.”

Rin looks at him curiously. “Are you happy right now, Kirei?”

It’s such a sudden, honest question that Kirei finds himself mentally fumbling. He looks around at the muted laughter, the waltzing couples, the soft candlelight, the small, bland snacks of caviar on fancy crackers, the children playing and running through the spaces between chatting adults.

Boredom gnaws away at his chest.

“Not as happy as you seem to be,” he answers.

The music changes to something a little faster, and Rin jumps up, her frilly red dress frothing around her before settling back against her knees. She holds out her hand in a manner more befitting a warrior than a little girl.

“Then dance with me,” Rin says, her tone serious and her smile determined.

“Why not?” Kirei stands and takes Rin’s hand (his looks like a giant’s by comparison), letting her drag him into the swirling, twirling fray.

As neither of them really know how to dance, various amused couples quickly give them a wide berth. Rin knows how to spin, and Kirei barely knows how to lead. Leaning down to lead better, he knows his back will kill him in the morning (if not sooner). Thankfully it’s Kirei’s feet which get trodden under his partner’s shiny black Mary Janes, and not the other way around. Rin’s clearly using more energy, though, her tiny legs just barely keeping up with his (though he’s _trying_ to go slow, really).

“Are you tired?” Kirei asks, as Rin nearly stumbles into his knee.

Rin shakes her head and laughs with innocent abandon. “No, no, spin me again!”

“Alright,” Kirei says, and Rin twirls like a frilly red and black top, her fingers barely touching his.

Just as Rin lurches dizzily out of his grip (Kirei feels a twinge of amusement at her groans), Tokiomi arrives to save the day, taking his daughter’s hand and letting Aoi dance with Kirei.

“…Is this alright?” Kirei asks (his back aches as he straightens up) as Aoi rests one hand on his shoulder and the other in his.

“My husband wouldn’t have gone off with Rin otherwise,” Aoi replies. “We both trust you not to take advantage. You _are_ a man of God, after all.”

“Yes,” Kirei says, eager to let Aoi lead.

There’s a long, peaceful pause, filled with the occasional squeak of leather and the pleasant lilt and croon of violins and trumpets. Kirei lets his mind wander, thinks of Claudia trying to teach him to dance in front of an old record player—and how afterwards she was bedridden for two days.

_And yet she said it was worth it…why?_

“Mr. Kotomine?”

Kirei snaps back to reality, to his concerned dancing partner. “Forgive me, I was…lost in thought.”

Aoi looks a little worried. “I could see that. You looked sad. Is something the matter?”

Kirei shakes his head and looks as pleasant as he can. He hopes Rin will be tired soon—no, _immediately_ —so that they can leave this dull place.

“No,” he says softly. “No, I’m perfectly content.”


	6. Blood (Kirei + Rin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set between the events of Fate/Zero and Fate/stay night, when Kirei was Rin's guardian. 
> 
> Rin gets her first period, and Kirei takes on his role as embarrassing (but not perverted) parent/guardian with gusto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be all broody and serious like the others...and then I thought of Kirei being a horrible, horrible guy to have around when puberty hits, especially if Rin's involved. (Poor Rin. Your revenge will come.)

“No! _Don’t come in!_ ” Rin’s voice is as piercing as an air raid siren.

“Is something the matter?” Kirei asks, even though he’s quite aware that something’s wrong; Rin wouldn’t let him see her emotions otherwise.

The long pause tells him he’s right. It’s a pleasant feeling.

“…I’m bleeding.” Rin’s voice sounds muffled over the sound of toilet paper shredding.

“Don’t use toilet paper, it could infect the wound.” Kirei jiggles the bathroom door handle. “Rin, let me see. I promise not to hurt you.”

“I don’t care what you say, I’m not letting you in!”

Kirei is about to say _You’re trying my patience_ before he pauses. He quickly does the math. A smile crawls across his face like a snake.

“Rin.” He makes his voice as soothing as he can. “It’s perfectly alright. You’re simply menstruating.”

He can hear his young ward breathing quick and heavily, then slowly as the knowledge sinks in.

“So…so it’s my period?”

“Indeed. I believe it’s right on schedule. There are menstrual pads for your underwear in the left-hand cabinet.”

“You—you went out and bought some? When?”

Kirei tries to remember. “A weekend or two ago, I believe.”

There’s a scuffling sound. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“We were both too busy.”

“We _eat_ together!”

“It’s not polite dinner conversation. How would you like it if I—?”

“Argh, don’t tell me _anything_ about your body, pervert!” More scuffling. More growling. “K-Kirei, I can’t reach!”

_I know._ “They should be right in front, with the blue flying pig…”

“A flying— _whoa!_ ” There’s a solid _thump_ , and the sound of plastic crinkling. “…I got them…”

Kirei’s almost disappointed Rin reached them so fast. From the sounds of things, the rather large package landed on her head. He bites his cheek to keep from laughing.

“Shall I leave you to your own devices, Rin?”

“I’m not a little kid, Kirei, I can do this myself!”

“Very well, then.”

Kirei makes it as far as the kitchen before he breaks down laughing, leaning on the marble counter for support.


	7. The Scent of Copper (Kirei + Kiritsugu, pre-slash)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-series fic. Kirei is sixteen years old when he first meets Emiya Kiritsugu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the good things about snow storms: they give you time to write and no internet to distract you. On the plus side, five kudos! What a thing to greet me when the internet came back!
> 
> Anyway, this oneshot is pretty much 100% guesswork, as we only have one line to go by regarding whether Kirei and Kiritsugu met before, so if I'm wrong, feel free to correct me!

Kirei is sixteen years old when he meets Emiya Kiritsugu for the first time.

Kirei stomps into a hotel in Boston, completely covered in snow. The green welcome mat turns a darker shade as the snow melts and drips down onto the fabric. Looking outside briefly, Kirei can see the snowflakes getting fatter and falling without end.

A boy about his age (or maybe not, it’s hard to tell) is sitting in front of a fireplace, having clearly just entered himself judging by his shivering. His spiky black hair is damp, the occasional drop of water illuminated by the fire before falling off a black strand and out of Kirei’s sight.

Kirei goes to the mahogany service desk to get his room key (the elderly woman is very pleasant and has arthritic fingers) and wonders what he should do next. The bronze key is smooth and warm in his hand—this is an old hotel with a sense of history to it. It’s the sort of place made of mahogany, bronze and creaking floorboards that _begs_ to be explored—but Kirei isn’t a child anymore, and this is his first Executor assignment on his own (he’s to take out a Mage serial killer). He needs to be Mature.

He shuffles over to the fireplace and collapses into a red sofa next to the other boy. The boy suddenly seems to notice him—his head snaps up and his lips curl into a small, uncertain smile.

“Winter took its time to show up, huh?” The boy’s lightly accented tone is just shy of rote.

“Yes,” Kirei says, noting awkwardly that his accent is more obvious. “I hoped it wouldn’t snow until after I left.”

He takes in his fire-companion’s all-black attire, the turtleneck that bunches up near his pointed chin, the creases in his jeans that suggest he was spending a long time kneeling before he came here. He catches a whiff of pine soap and, just under that, a familiar coppery scent so faint he must be wrong. (But he doesn’t think he is. Blood has an almost textured scent and taste all its own, and Kirei knows the layers well.)

“You don’t like the cold either, huh?” The boy’s laugh is soft and sounds genuine. “I think I should’ve picked a better vacation spot.”

_You’re not vacationing any more than I am_ , Kirei wants to say, but then reconsiders. This _is_ the time for Winter Break at most colleges, including his. Perhaps his companion is telling the truth.

Still, there’s an air, an aura, around this boy that Kirei knows well. It’s a restless, listless energy with nowhere to go—Kirei imagines them both enveloped in a bubble of electricity, unseen or felt by those blessed to be busy.

“May I ask your name?” Kirei asks, already feeling his toes heating up in their boots.

The boy looks uncomfortable for a moment, and Kirei suddenly finds his black eyes fascinating. “Well…do you speak Japanese?”

Kirei switches languages with ease. “I _am_ Japanese. My name is Kotomine Kirei.” He stands and bows. “Pleased to meet you.”

His relieved companion does the same. “I’m Emiya Kiritsugu. Pleased to meet you, too.”

Kiritsugu’s name is rather odd—almost suspiciously so—but Kirei merely shelves the suspicion in the back of his mind.

Kiritsugu looks at him with concern. “You still look cold, Kotomine- _kun_. Do you want some hot chocolate?”

_Ah. There’s where that energy’s going to go._ “Is there some around?”

Kiritsugu nods. “On one of the tables near the stairs. No, no, don’t get up, I’ll get it!”

Before Kirei can tell him to just sit down and let him handle it, Kiritsugu’s already striding on lanky coltish legs to the table in question. Kirei sighs in mild annoyance and settles more comfortably into his chair.

Kiritsugu comes back bearing two paper cups. “I didn’t know if you like marshmallows, so I played it safe and gave you regular.”

“That’s fine.” Kirei takes a sip. It’s chalky and teeth-numbingly sweet, but it warms his insides, which is what he needed. “It’s good.”

Kiritsugu looks pleased as he sits back down. He sips from his cup, looking at Kirei thoughtfully over the paper rim. His eyebrows raise slightly; he stops drinking and points at Kirei’s necklace.

“You’re a Christian?”

“That’s right.” Kirei touches his cross thoughtfully, comforted by the smooth, lukewarm gold against his fingers. “Are you?”

Kiritsugu shrugs. “I don’t know, really. I don’t have much time to think about God and that sort of thing.”

Kirei used to be offended by such talk, but nowadays he figures it’s their soul, their problem. (He hasn’t told his father, he might be disappointed in his lethargy.)

“My Father’s a priest, so you could say I haven’t really had _time_ to not have time.”

Kiritsugu winces in sympathy. “That sounds rough.”

Kirei shrugs. “I’m good at my work for the Church. It’s a pleasant life. And my Father treats me kindly.”

_At least, his treatment of me matches up with the books I’ve read…_

“You’re very lucky,” Kiritsugu says, and there’s _something_ in his voice that makes Kirei look sharply at him.

“What about your father?” Kirei tries to frame it as a question, but instead it comes out as a clipped demand. He winces. “I—pardon me, that was rude…”

Kiritsugu doesn’t seem to know how to respond. “It’s…alright? And anyway, my Dad’s dead, so not much to talk about there.”

“Oh. When did he die?” Kirei keeps his voice neutral, ignores how he finds himself glancing from Kiritsugu’s fingers to the set of his jaw to his black, dulling eyes.

“A few years ago.” Kiritsugu’s voice is brittle, clipped. “He tried to change the world. He failed.”

_How fun_ —“I’m sorry if I hurt you for asking.”

“You didn’t.” Kiritsugu smiles reassuringly.

_Liar._

They spend the next hour chatting about non-death-related things: football (not the American one, Kirei doesn’t know much about it), world affairs, various church practices (Kiritsugu seems fascinated by confessionals), food…and then, much to Kirei’s surprise, things take a turn for the philosophical.

“How difficult do you think it’d be to change the world?” Kiritsugu asks, staring deeply into the fire.

“…That depends on how you want to change it.”

“A world where people are happy and safe…”

“Heaven?”

Kiritsugu smiles bitterly. “It _would_ be paradise, wouldn’t it?”

Kirei scowls. “But in order to reach paradise, people have to die.”

“Some people would think that’s a small price to pay.”

The fire hisses and crackles, sending Kiritsugu’s face into sharp, almost skull-like relief. His skin looks waxy under the fire’s glow, and there’s an enthralling look bordering on mania in his eyes.  

Kirei thinks of the scent of copper and says nothing.


	8. In Sickness and In Health (Kirei/Kariya, Soulmate AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a universe where tattoos show who you will share your life with, Kirei receives Kariya's name.
> 
> As per usual, this is not a happy fate.

The blood-red tattoo on Kirei’s wrist says _Matou Kariya_.

It scorches his skin the same day as the Command Seal appears on the back of his hand. This can’t be a coincidence.

“How blessed,” says Kirei’s father. “To be chosen as a Master in the Holy Grail War _and_ finally given the name of your Soulmate is a miracle.”

_I’m blessed_ , Kirei inwardly parrots, watching the red ink (or are they vessels bursting beneath the skin?) gleam wetly in the candlelight. _But then, my wife…was she a mere stepping-stone in God’s design?_

That night, he dreams of his dead wife in Heaven, weeping. He doesn’t tell his father—it’s no sign.

\---

A month before the Holy Grail War can begin, Kirei sends his Assassin to collect Kariya and bring him to the church.

When Kirei comes to visit Kariya in one of the church’s guest rooms, he sees his Soulmate is sickly, his hair no longer ink-black but ash-gray (it reminds him of Claudia). His skin is pallid, with worms squirming fitfully beneath his flesh. His muscles are slowly becoming atrophied, and he’s blind in one eye. The other eye is wide, black as his hair once was, and reminds Kirei sharply of a rabbit in a trap.

“You’re _perfect_ ,” Kirei says softly, as Kariya’s rabbit-eye blinks worriedly at him.

“I…what?”

Kirei holds up his tattooed wrist as explanation. It clearly takes every ounce of Kariya’s strength to lift his wrist and show Kirei’s name emblazoned there like a brand.

“So you’re Kotomine Kirei,” Kariya says, sounding unsure.

Kirei nods. “I believe I may be of some use to you.”

“Yeah? Why?”

Kirei feels his lips curl into a smile. “I’m a Healer.”

Kariya’s laughter borders on hysterics.

\---

Kirei’s father seems glad to receive Kariya’s Command Seals. Kariya isn’t quite so sure.

Kirei rests his hand on his Soulmate’s shoulder as a way of showing support. He knows that it must feel possessive, too, so he keeps his hold loose.

“I was going to save Sakura with those,” Kariya says softly, as the Command Seals leave his hand and glow warmly on Father Kotomine’s.

“Never fear, my child. My son will help keep your ‘niece’ safe.”

“Of course,” Kirei says, while at the same time wondering if he really wants someone else to take care of.

He comes to his conclusion quickly enough. A man of God would not let a lamb go astray, and a Healer would not let someone ill go untreated.

He tells Kariya so, just to watch his face go from worry to hope to worry again. His “ruined” face truly is fascinating, beautiful in its ugliness. Kirei wonders with a kind of wild abandon what Sakura looks like. He’s itching to find out.

\--- 

As it turns out, Kirei doesn’t really get a chance to find out. Once he tells Assassin to spirit Tohsaka Sakura out of the Matou mansion, Tokiomi’s Servant takes over (after Kirei explains what’s going on to Tokiomi; Kariya refuses to talk with “a child-betrayer”). The girl is back safe with her mother and sister, away from the danger of the Holy Grail War.

Kirei still has Kariya, however. That alone is worth something.

Once Sakura is safe, Kariya seems willing to be healed. “I don’t really need this magic anymore,” he says, without any trace of shame.

Kirei understands. “Magic is often considered an abomination.” He tenderly rests his hand on Kariya’s worm-infested cheek. The skin shudders at his touch in a way that oddly reminds him of stale tapioca pudding. “I’m sure you have similar feelings.”

Kariya’s brows furrow. “Is this going to hurt?”

“I’d recommend assuming so.” Kirei takes one of Kariya’s palms in his free hand and squeezes it reassuringly.

Kariya grits his teeth and hisses in a breath as Kirei uses his magecraft to reopen his wounds and extract the worms.

They are stubborn, greedy creatures; they try to burrow deeper into Kariya’s flesh, their jaws chomp at the air mere inches from Kirei’s fingers. But Kirei is greedy too. He pulls at them with a surgeon’s precision, and when they try to latch onto him he crushes them into mealy pulp between his fingers.

Through it all Kariya squeezes his hand as tight as he can with what remains of his strength. He barely even flinches, his resolve as solid as a rock. His resolve becomes Kirei’s becomes Kariya’s. Within an hour the crest worms are no more.

Kariya tumbles forward, and Kirei catches him with ease. Kariya’s eye droops closed with the pleasant weight of sleep.

“I’m proud of you,” Kirei says softly, his hands covered in green worm remnants and speckles of blood.

What he doesn’t say is: _I want to see that resolve again._

After all, as Kariya’s Soulmate, isn’t Kirei _obligated_ to see every part of him, and vice-versa? Here is a person Kirei doesn’t need to hold back with. In sickness and in health, Kirei can watch over him, protect him—and as their relationship is quite clearly healer-and-patient, Kariya need not worry about his health ever again. Of course, he’ll need a stronger immune system—the worms have clearly taken their toll.

Kirei thinks of all the medicines he hasn’t gotten to test yet. He smiles and strokes Kariya’s hair, the curl of his lips growing wider as a clump of white strands falls out at his touch.

Yes, he and Kariya truly were made for each other.


	9. Care (Kirei/Gilgamesh)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Fate/Zero. Shortly after gaining a mortal coil, Gilgamesh gets sick. Naturally, Kirei has to keep him company. Philosophy and verbal prodding ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really not sure who would be the worst patient, Gilgamesh or Kirei. I kept waffling over who I wanted to be the "patient", and finally settled on Gil, because he'd probably be funnier. 
> 
> Only one ficlet left to go--that was fast!

“Kirei, death is calling me,” Gilgamesh groans, beads of sweat dripping down his cheek onto the pristine pillow.

“Of course not.” Kirei sighs and rubs his temples. “Has it really been this long since you’ve been sick?”

“Centuries,” Gilgamesh says, before grabbing a tissue and blowing his nose with a sound like a horrified elephant.

“Are you regretting the Grail’s gift of human flesh?”

“Of (cough) course not. I _am_ , however, regretting having you as my Master. At least Tokiomi (cough) wouldn’t _mock_ me.”

“Would you prefer I praise your slightest sneeze to high heaven and low hell?”

Gilgamesh manages a smirk. “If the mood strikes you.”

Kirei rests his hand on Gilgamesh’s forehead—it burns like a brand. “Let me see, a fever, runny nose, coughing…anything else?”

“Chest hurts.” Gilgamesh demonstrates, breathing in as deeply as he can before bursting into hacking, phlegm-laden coughs.

“Hopefully you don’t have pneumonia,” Kirei mutters, more to himself than his sick Servant. He moves to get a textbook on diseases from his personal library. “I’ll be right back, just—”

Gilgamesh’s hand lunges out from under the covers and grabs hold of Kirei’s sleeve. Kirei turns to look at him, at his unfocused, cloudy red eyes, his wan complexion, the pillow and red satin blankets wet with sweat.

“…I didn’t grant you permission to leave, mongrel.”

“I need to get a medical book to figure out what’s wrong with you. The bookshelf is right here, by the window. May I?”

Gilgamesh sniffs loudly and retracts his hand like a hermit crab reentering its shell. “I shall allow it. But make haste.”

Kirei knows the book he needs, so making haste is easy to do. The thick medical text isn’t as heavy as he remembers. _I was younger, then, and with Claudia. This book felt as heavy as the world, and Claudia as light as the cross around my neck…_

Kirei goes back to his seat by Gilgamesh’s bed (technically _their_ bed, but as usual the King of Heroes hogs all the space) and cracks open the book. The sound of pages turning feels very soothing, even as his shoulders and lap tense and strain from the weight of the book. Gilgamesh watches him with bleary eyes, occasionally coughing or sniffling or both.

“…Kirei.”

“Mm?”

“What will you do if I’m truly dying?”

“I think that should be ‘would’, not ‘will’. And if you really _were_ dying…” Kirei ponders for a moment, the words on the page turning blurred as his eyes glaze over in thought.

_What_ would _I do? As he’s human now, I would have to give him a burial, but that would require identification records…and for that matter, I would lose a Servant…_

Gilgamesh’s chuckle breaks Kirei free of his train of thought. “Well, well, such a thought seems to have troubled you! Clearly I must be dear to you, mongrel.”

“You _are_ a useful person to have around,” Kirei acknowledges, as he returns to his book. “It’s the thought of having to find a place to bury your corpse that troubles me.”

“You could cremate it.” Gilgamesh’s chuckle morphs into a series of coughs. “Or you could embalm it, and keep it in your bed, for when you inevitably get bored of whoever you choose to replace me with.”

“Did you indulge in such vile acts in life?”

“Of course not—I was speaking of _you_ , Kirei.” Gilgamesh’s golden brows furrow in something resembling pain for a moment, then return to their normal smug mien. “I do not care that deeply.”

Kirei tactfully doesn’t call him on his bluff and continues searching the book’s appendix. He soon finds what he’s looking for and scans the chapter quickly, nodding to himself as he goes.

“Do you believe Heaven awaits you when you die, Kirei?”

“Of course. I’m still a Christian, after all.”

“What about this ‘Hell’ of yours?”

“That’s also a possibility. Far more likely, in fact.”

Gilgamesh coughs and gets into a more comfortable position. “Why would that be?”

Kirei sighs heavily. “ _Because_ , Gilgamesh, ‘thou shalt not kill’. And I have killed many, both in the past and present.”

“…But your God also wishes for you to rejoice in this world and your desires. If he is both Father and Son…surely he would see you happy?”

“The Holy Trinity has long been debated. Fruitlessly, of course, but it’s one of those unanswerable questions.”

The bed shakes and creaks with Gilgamesh’s hoarse laughter and coughs. “If the question’s unanswerable, why ask the question? Or look for the answer, for that matter?”

“Presumably the asker has plenty of free time and a desire for the truth. Wouldn’t that fit with your philosophy?”

“Perhaps. But sometimes one must stop such fruitless quests. Often, the thing the searcher wants most is back home or already beside them.”

Kirei considers asking if such knowledge comes from experience. “…Are you trying to dissuade me from my own ‘answer-search’?”

Gilgamesh cough-laughs again. “Which one? And even if I felt so inclined…have you learned _nothing_? The only one who can dissuade or persuade yourself in the end is _you_. That is, if you have the mental fortitude for such things.”

“That sounds almost idealistic.” Kirei places his hand on Gilgamesh’s forehead again. “You truly are ill.”

“Perceptive as always,” Gilgamesh says dryly.

“…I believe I know what I’d do if you were dying.”

“Oh?”

“Clearly, the answer would be to kill you before you died.”

“Ha! (Cough) I knew you cared.”

“A Master must keep his Servant in good health, and vice-versa.”

“Indeed.”

“It seems you have a regular cold after all.” Kirei closes the book and puts it down on the floor, pleased to put it away.

When he moves to get up, however, Gilgamesh’s hand shoots out from under the covers and yanks Kirei onto the bed. Before Kirei can right himself, Gilgamesh manages to wrap himself and the blanket like a python around Kirei’s body, immobilizing him.

“ _You_ ,” Gilgamesh murmurs by Kirei’s burning ear, “are hereby ordered to embrace me and be embraced in turn. The punishment for disobedience is… _hmm_ …a sneeze in the face.”

“If disobedience doesn’t warrant the Gate of Babylon—”

Gilgamesh grumbles and presses his lips to Kirei’s. Kirei lets the warm, slow kiss deepen, as is expected. He slips his fingers through the King of Heroes’ sweaty hair, and has a sinking realization: that soon _he_ will no doubt be the one being sick in bed.

_I will be the worst patient in this world or the next_ , Kirei vows, and listens to Gilgamesh’s steady heartbeat.


	10. Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon divergence. Kirei has captured Kariya and Kiritsugu and made them his pets. His heart is full of joy as he shares an evening of entertainment with Gilgamesh, and his pets as the main attraction. It promises to be pleasurable. 
> 
> It does not last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the last ficlet! I've edited this one so much the words are starting to blur together for me, but I'm fairly secure that it's grammatically and narratively sound at this point! *resists the urge to edit it again*
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and feedback, and hope you enjoy!

“I think I understand what you mean, now,” Kirei tells Gilgamesh over a glass of wine.

“Understand what, exactly?” Gilgamesh asks, rolling the glass stem between his fingers.

“You’ve said before that you want to taste Saber’s tears. I believe I now understand the appeal.” Kirei bends forward a little, to run his free hand down the small of Kariya’s bare, worm-defiled back. “My pets’ tears do have a certain… _quality_ to them.”

“Oh?” Gilgamesh smiles wickedly and glances over at  bare-chested Kiritsugu, still strapped into the gurney and breathing harshly. “That sounds like something I should taste for myself.”

Kirei adjusts his feet resting on Kariya’s shoulders to get more comfortable. “By all means. But please bring him back in the condition you found him.”

“Never fear, I wouldn’t destroy your art.” Gilgamesh leans over Kiritsugu’s prone, bruised body like a golden angel. From this short distance, Kirei can see the King’s caress against his pet’s cheek is gentle and warm. “There, there, mongrel. I will not harm you.”

Kirei chuckles as Kiritsugu’s muscles strain against the leather straps—he seems caught between wanting to move away and wanting to move closer into that soft touch. Kirei has already exploited those clashing desires to amusing (arousing) results. It’s a shame Saber’s Master hasn’t spoken since he was captured—it’s probably his own way of expressing his moral superiority.

“Oh, no words for your King? How disappointing.” Gilgamesh pinches Kiritsugu’s nose—when Saber’s Master opens his mouth to gasp, the King of Heroes stares for a moment then releases his grip. “Excellent, your tongue is still serviceable. Kirei, may I use it?”

“Just don’t cut it out. And watch his teeth—he bites.”

“ _Wonderful_. My Master is a gracious host.”

Kirei decides to give Kariya a break and slides his feet to the floor.

Kariya groans softly and tries to get into a kneeling position. He’s so thin these days Kirei can, and does, pick him up with ease and place him on his lap like the pet he is. Kariya’s head droops onto Kirei’s shoulder, and Kirei hums with approval at his pet’s fluttering pulse thrumming through his robes.

“Isn’t this better than burning to death, Kariya?” Kirei asks, running a hand through Kariya’s greasy, shedding hair and planting a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“Yes,” Kariya says softly, his body slowly relaxing. “Thank you for your kindness, Father Kirei.”

Kirei picks his wine glass off the table and drinks deeply from it again. This is his fourth glass, and the world is soft and slow around the edges. His heart is full, warm, and without worry.

He offers Kariya a sip, and chuckles as his eye widens at the taste.

“It’s _sweet_ ,” his pet says, licking his chapped lips.

“Were you expecting blood?” Kirei teases, before drinking again.

Kariya’s eye moves slowly from his owner to his fellow pet—who is now letting out soft grunts as Gilgamesh runs his hand tenderly over each bruise and healing cut.

“Is something the matter, Kariya?” Kirei asks, as Kariya shivers in his arms.

“Just the worms,” Kariya assures him, trying to halt his shuddering to no avail.

“We know how to deal with them, don’t we?” Kirei purrs, his touch becoming more insistent but no less gentle.

Kariya’s soft moan is answer enough. In fact, Kirei is amused to discover that for once his pet hasn’t needed to be persuaded or under the worms’ control this time; his lust is obvious and genuine, his kisses are direct and sincere. It took what felt like a long time, but in the end patience won out. _Soon, Kiritsugu will be the same. Perhaps rationing his food will help…_

Kirei lets Kariya get into a more comfortable position on his lap, only half-listening to Gilgamesh’s lazy taunting of Kiritsugu and Kiritsugu’s hoarse growling in response. His pet’s hands rest on his shoulders, a mirror image of when Kirei first touched him in the glow of the city’s skylights.

Kariya’s eye gleams bright with excitement. The tremors in his hands are vibrating through Kirei’s chest, making him want to speed things along. He lets Kariya’s tongue slide across his neck and his bony hips roll against him.

“ _Mine_ ,” Kirei says, drawing his lips back in a smile. “You are mine until you die.”

There is no answer that he can hear, but the feel of his pet leaning into him says more than words.

Kirei is drunk more on power than wine; it courses through his veins like hellfire (or heaven’s light, he can’t decide) and he’s sure his expression is something more bestial than man. Kariya seems too aroused to care. _Hopefully I’m sober enough to take my pleasure—_

“—Kirei.” Gilgamesh interrupts curtly.

“What now?” Kirei turns his head to glare at the King of Heroes, his annoyance soothed a little by Kariya massaging his shoulders.

Gilgamesh’s lips are turned down in a scowl of confusion. He’s still leaning over Kiritsugu. “Did your pet have Avalon in his possession?”

“It’s possible. Saber could have it too.” Kirei scowls back. “Why?”

The gurney’s straps tear like wet paper. Kiritsugu’s fist snaps up and punches Gilgamesh’s face.

A familiar black mist is engulfing Kiritsugu. Kariya is laughing.

Kirei’s mind and body move like frozen molasses. Kariya shoves himself backward, using Kirei as a springboard. Even if he’s only standing tall by sheer force of will, there’s a look in his eyes that makes Kirei’s face burn with frustration.

Gilgamesh and Berserker are busy destroying the room. The wine cabinet has already been splintered, and the reds are mixing together and staining the cherry wood black.

“Good luck fighting Emiya,” Kariya says, his tone both cheery and cold.

“You can’t leave.” Kirei gets unsteadily to his feet, and the world lurches and spins. Bile rises to his throat. “You’re _mine._ ”

“‘Until I die’, you said.” Kariya doesn’t turn his back to him; he steps backward to the door, his smile sad but peaceful. “Well, I’ve only got a few hours left in me. And I’m sure as hell not spending them with _you._ ”

Kirei knows where he’s going to go. He’s going to go to the Matou mansion with Berserker, spirit Sakura away to her mother, and die in Aoi’s arms. There will be tears of joy and sadness, declarations of affection, and a happy ending for a broken girl.

Kirei feels sick—no, worse than sick. Cold. Empty. _The way I used to, before…_

“Berserker!” Kariya calls, his voice hoarse with triumph as he stares Kirei full in the face for the first time in a long time. “We’re _leaving._ ”

Black fog speeds by, enveloping Kirei in darkness for a moment. Then it recedes, and his pet is gone.

_Kariya was never my pet._ I _was the one being toyed with. He may be working with Kiritsugu; perhaps Kiritsugu will be coming here to kill me…_

_…Perhaps there’s still a chance to have a pet after all._ Somehow Kirei doubts it.

He slowly turns his head to look at Gilgamesh, wincing as the world tips sideways for a moment before returning to normal. Gilgamesh is busy healing, probing at once-broken teeth with his tongue, a black eye blooming and then receding.

Gilgamesh catches Kirei staring and has the nerve to smirk. “You look surprised. Did it not seem too easy, mongrel?”

Kirei cups his face in his hands and doesn’t answer. He breathes in and out slowly, the sound echoing in his ears. It doesn’t drown out the sound of Kariya’s laughter.

He can hear Gilgamesh stepping around the shards of glass and wood splinters, as though this is any other evening and the room hasn’t been defiled.

“Why aren’t you going after them?” Kirei asks, his voice muffled against his palms.

“Why chase a dying dog?”

The sofa creaks as the King of Heroes perches himself on the right armrest. Kirei twitches as Gilgamesh’s arm wraps around his shoulders and his wine-wet lips press against his forehead.

Kirei lets his hands drop. “You _knew_.”

“I _suspected_ , mongrel, there’s a world of difference between those terms.” Gilgamesh’s arm is warm, even through the fabric of Kirei’s robes. “It seems you still have much to learn.”

“I have no wish to learn right now,” Kirei’s mind roils with too many emotions; they crowd his skull and seem to press against the inside of his throat.

Gilgamesh chuckles. “Ah, Kirei, a lifelong student such as yourself yearns to learn whether he wishes to or not.”

“Are you saying I’m trapped with you?”

“Trapped?” Gilgamesh pretends to be offended. “Why, no. You knew the terms of our arrangement when you entered into it. Did you truly expect immediate happiness without consequences or failure?”

Kirei can’t answer. His throat feels blocked by ice. His eyes burn.

“So you did.” Gilgamesh lets out a forlorn sigh. “You truly are a beginner after all.”

Kirei flinches as a wet, blood-tinted tongue slides up his cheek to catch the pained, hot tears leaking from his eyes.

“But I _will_ say,” Gilgamesh purrs once he is done, “your wine tastes better than your tears.”


	11. Counter Guardian KOTOMINE (Gen, AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirei becomes part of the Counter Force. To say that he profits from it is an understatement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like I still had one more idea for Kirei after all! Better change that title...
> 
> Aside from being stalled on "On The Next Battlefield", this came about from watching the UBW anime again. I realized that Kirei would probably _jump_ at the chance to experience Archer's hellish existence. (And hey, being a Counter Guardian also means doing things for the good of mankind. Win/win!)

When he dies—perhaps inevitably, it’s at the hands of one he betrayed—Kirei is offered a choice.

It’s a choice without words, from a strange swirling globe of white that floats before his flickering vision. But, in the clotted void of his heart, the apparition asks him: _Do you wish to keep the world in balance?_

Kirei tries to chuckle, but only blood oozes from his lips. Why should an aberration like him save a world that couldn’t understand him?

And yet, there’s an equally honest answer: it would mean that a ‘life’ like his would have meaning.

The ground is cold and hard against his body. He can feel blood crusting on his cassock. His breathing is labored, barely giving him enough oxygen to stay alive another second.

It won’t be long now.

He stretches out his hand with the last of his strength, and mouths the word _yes._

All at once, white tendrils slither from the apparition and touch him, engulf him, turning his world to his bond.

The apparition flicks through his mind like turning pages in a book, until it finds what it wants: his surname. A simple thing, but it’s one of the only things of worth that he possesses. In the back of his head, Kirei thinks that Father Risei would be a far better choice for keeping the world in balance.

_Perhaps now, I can prove worthy of you, Father…_

In those final, flickering moments, as Kirei draws his last breath, Counter Guardian KOTOMINE is born.

\---

KOTOMINE knows his job well: clean up the messes humans have left behind. In some ways, it’s not that different from being a priest—many times he presided over funerals, or tended to the dying. On the Counter Force’s orders, he arrives at sites of chaos and destruction, warzones and crumbling empires, and takes care of it.

Some might see this as many layers of Hell, a suffering beyond human comprehension. The sight of endless tears and the sounds of utter sorrow and agony welcome him to each new mission. He sees more misery as KOTOMINE than he ever did as Kirei, Father or otherwise.

But KOTOMINE doesn’t see it that way. With each disaster he ends, each doom he averts, his heart grows warm and light. To see such pleasures, balanced so carefully with such selfless acts—what else could this be but Heaven? Certainly, the being that granted him this salvation may not be the actual God. That doesn’t matter. Now, there is purpose and joy in his “life”, in equal measure.

His Black Keys slice through armies, mad kings, and other evils. He can use Holy words to sear demons from the earth. He strides through cold, tomblike palaces and across towering, steep mountains, traversing the world in all its vastness, his mind emptied but for the task he must perform. He never fails to achieve his goal.

And in return, he receives such bounties. Sights and smells and sounds that he could barely appreciate in life, far beyond Kariya’s forlorn wails or Tokiomi’s shock as an heirloom pierced his flesh. In time, those earthly pleasures he so cherished become but footnotes compared to what KOTOMINE encounters.

He can view these memories at leisure, in yet another church on a hill, as he waits for his next assignment. It could be a day or a thousand years since he died—but what he knows now is that he’s never felt more human.

Father Risei used to wake up with a smile each day, happy and fulfilled by doing the Lord’s work. Now, at last, his son can say the same.


	12. The Scent of Him (Kirei/Kiritsugu, pre-slash, obsession, clothes-sniffing)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirei dislikes the smell of nicotine. As it happens, Kiritsugu's scent is more varied than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a challenge to myself (like 99% of these, actually): write something that requires describing scents. 
> 
> Huh, I think this is the first time I've written Kirei this self-loathing! O_o It was bound to happen, I guess.

Kirei has never enjoyed the scent of nicotine. It is cloying, bitter; it lingers in the air and on clothing for hours afterward. He doesn’t admit this in public, preferring the more subtle approach of non-smoking sections. And when that option isn’t available, he asks politely for the smoker to wait until he leaves, as his father taught him.

He considered smoking, once, to prove his ability to endure temptation to himself. One look at the side effects on the package (in barely legible font) changed his mind. Instead, for reasons best not lingered upon, he listens to the harsh wheezing emanating from smoker’s lips with rapt attention. He studies the x-ray images of blackened lungs, tracing the darkness with a finger, his throat parched.

But still, the odor is too much to bear.

When he learns Kiritsugu Emiya smokes, it’s almost disappointing. Each time Kirei catches a whiff of nicotine while about town, his body grows warm, almost feverish. Somehow, a sinful part of his brain convinces him (or rather, his nose) that Kiritsugu mustn’t smell _entirely_ of tobacco. Surely, his scent must be more varied and unique than that.

He orders the Assassins to search for Kiritsugu’s hiding place—but not to tell Tokiomi.

They duly inform him of a small, dingy hotel, where a man of Kiritsugu’s description recently stayed—but has left. In penance (or perhaps to prove they followed his orders) an Assassin offers up a black shirt that reeks of Magecraft and sweat. Like any good assassin, Kiritsugu ensures the scent of blood on his person is nonexistent.

In this case, the lack of nicotine-smell is a blessing—Kirei’s father knows how much he dislikes it, and would be instantly suspicious. He needs peace and quiet in this situation, to better contemplate this offering.

The cotton shirt is cold, slightly heavy in his hands, and his mind grows as still as a frozen lake. In the time between unfolding the shirt and holding it up to the light for inspection, he must have ordered the Assassin to leave. He is alone in his office now, the silence deafening.

He considers sitting, but that would make him comfortable, and he must deny such luxuries.

Ever so carefully, he brings the shirt to his face. It’s a little like preparing to dive underwater, or to kill a heretic. The sleeves drape down by his sides, caressing his belly and hips each time he moves.

His heart pounds in his ears; prickling heat creeps up his neck.

Kirei takes his first, hasty sniff.

The smell of sweaty musk overwhelms him in an instant. Unfortunately, it is not unpleasant. Instead, it conjures images of Kiritsugu, frightened and alone, gasping as Kirei’s boot presses down on his wrist…

 _No._ Kirei bites his lip so hard he tastes blood, but that only makes things worse. The scent of Kiritsugu is filling his head, as heady as he imagines wine to be. Each whiff makes his breathing quicken, and his fevered mind moves in tandem. It spins fragments of fantasy:

_Kiritsugu, flushed and hard but unable to experience release. His hands are bound behind his back. His clothes are a mess, stained with blood, sweat and other such fluids, and the latter two are Kirei’s. Kirei buries his face in Kiritsugu’s neck, inhaling the scent of him before digging his teeth into the pale hollow of that throat. Kiritsugu’s voice is beautiful as he begs and begs for something that will never come, even as his life ebbs away…_

Kirei snaps back to his senses as Father Risei—who else would it be?—knocks at his door.

Father Risei’s voice is muffled behind the door: “Kirei? May I come in?”

He’s suddenly aware of the state of his body, the heat and the tightness of his clothes he can’t just excuse away. Most importantly, he’s keenly aware of the shirt he’s huffing like a pathetic addict, less than a dog. And a sick part of him wants to keep going.

This is—a mania, something profane and vile. Revulsion rises in his throat like bile, and he quickly uses a simple spell to set the shirt ablaze. He can’t risk keeping such a temptation around, after all.


End file.
